10 week melancholy

To begin, a list of words Owen has accidentally uttered:
uh-oh
oh no
now
ma
dad
mamgu (Welsh for grandmother)
nah

This game amuses us.

Every new thing he learns - a new way to make a sound, a new way to move, means he loses something else. There are no more adorable goat noises these days, and a lot more whining and cooing and happy squeals. The devastating newborn wail is gone, too, which is nice, and the shrieking stage (the first of several, I'm sure) was mercifully brief.

I won't say that the distinction between his cries isn't welcome, even if a lot of them are seriously whiny now. But I miss the bleating, and treasure it when it escapes from a deep-sleeping baby.

Yesterday, at an Old Man Luedeke matinee, of all places, we ran into another couple we'd met once or twice at a mutual friend's, with their two-week-old son. It was such an incredible wave of nostalgia... nostalgia for two months ago, of all things. I held him for a minute, and smelled his head, and could understand, for a brief flash, why people have more than one (this is not apparent in the months directly after childbirth.)

I want Owen to learn things that will make him happier - sucking his thumb is a first step on being able to bring things to his mouth, which will open up the wonderful world of toys, and it's great that he'll lie still and look at things for longer and longer periods - but also want him to stay a tiny baby in some ways.

I hear this sort of thing never really goes away, once you start down this road.

I guess that's OK. It's a good sort of heartbreak to have.